


Thank God for Candlelight

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Dolls is Trying to Cultivate a Mood Okay, F/M, Massages, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, So Many Candles Too Many Candles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: Followup toNinety-Nine.“Actually,” he damn neargrowls, suddenly back in her space but only touching her to undo her jeans, “I was thinking about a massage.”“It’s like I made you in a computer,” she gasps, and he shoves her jeans down her hips.“Don’t quote Deadpool when I’m trying to be sexy,” he sighs, pained.





	Thank God for Candlelight

“Quick question, do you think you got enough _candles_?” Wynonna can’t help but laugh when she walks into her bedroom.  It’s, like, a _fire hazard_ in here.  Anything _else_ she may want to say immediately dies in her throat when she turns to see him in the doorway, all gorgeous and glowing golden in the soft light, and she just thanks _god_ for candlelight.  It feels like it takes roughly eighty-four years for him to close the door, and sound of him flicking the lock shouldn’t send a thrill through her but it _does_.

“Thought I’d step it up from the kitchen counter,” Dolls teases.

When he’s close enough, she grabs the front of his sweater and reels him in until they’re chest-to-chest, breathing each other’s air, and says thoughtfully, “I had no complaints about the kitchen counter.”

She kisses him before he can respond, bruising and hungry and, god, she could do this and only this forever.  He follows her a little when she pulls back, hands heavy on her hips.  Eventually, though, she does need to breathe. 

“You’re not the only person who lives here,” he murmurs, laughter warm in his voice and lips brushing electric over her earlobe. 

The night before had been… hectic and frenzied and _good_ , had been bruising grips and needy whines—and _explosive_.  When his mouth is on hers now, it’s slow and sweet, one hand coming up to curl around the back of her neck, and she wants it to go on forever and she wants _more_ and she just _wants_.  Her own hands slip down his chest, over his sides, his back, his ass, and she relishes the quiet rumble it pulls out of him.  He pulls back a little, enough to press their foreheads together as his thumb swipes over her lower lip, and he hisses when she chases it with her tongue.  It takes more effort than she’s willing to admit to push him away, but she needs to be wearing _way_ less clothes.

“Did you light all these candles with your, yanno,” she points vaguely at her throat before she slips her sweater up over her head.  “Because, not gonna lie, that’d be _super_ sexy.”

She smirks as his eyes trail over her and reaches back to unhook her bra.  In a small motion, so quick and subtle it could _almost_ be a trick of the flickering light, he shakes his head and says, “I used a lighter, Wynonna.”

“Shame,” she laughs.  “So, are you gonna get undressed or…”

“Actually,” he damn near _growls_ , suddenly back in her space but only touching her to undo her jeans, “I was thinking about a massage.”

“It’s like I made you in a computer,” she gasps, and he shoves her jeans down her hips.

“Don’t quote Deadpool when I’m trying to be sexy,” he sighs, pained.

“You’re so sexy,” she says quickly into his lips, kicking her pants the rest of the way off and using her grip on his shoulders to keep from falling.

When she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear, he stops her with a quick, “Wait, leave ‘em.”

Arching up just a little, she nips his lower lip and breathes, “Whatever you want, boss.”

“God _damn_ ,” he huffs.

Grinning, she nudges in again, languid and sweet, like they have all the time in the world.  It feels good and _weird_ to be so lazy about it.  In spite of the gentle, nearly tender kisses, his grip on her is strong and firm and stokes the fiery need in her. 

“Will you at least take off your shirt?” she mumbles a _little_ dazedly as he moves to her throat.  His beard burns but it’s _awesome_ and her fingers flex into bunched fabric.  Biting her lip, she _tries_ to suppress a whimper when he bites at _just_ the right spot.  She’s gonna have, like, bruises and stubble burn all the hell over, and the thought flits through her mind before she remembers she doesn’t really _care_ as long as he keeps doing _that_.

But then he _stops_ and she _does_ whine.

“Get on the bed,” he orders, voice gruff enough to make her feel a little weak-kneed.

She climbs into the middle of the bed and drops onto her stomach, crossing her arms primly under her chin and arching her brow back at him.  He tugs his sweater off and lets it drop, then his dog tags, and she grumbles about _taking your sweet damn time_ only to gasp and squirm when he brushes his fingers feather-light over the arch of her foot.

“Patience,” he teases.

The bed dips under his weight as he gingerly straddles her thighs, and she wriggles just a little.  She sighs when he starts rubbing her back, working up her spine with his thumbs, pressing in all the right spots to make her feel loose and pleasantly sleepy.  His fingers are firm, and every circle and stroke is slow and thoughtful and does _nothing_ to make her forget about the burning need growing in her.  He bends, his teeth and lips follow his hands, and she lets out a soft moan.  She feels his hips roll against her, his jeans almost achingly rough against her bare skin. 

“Patience really isn’t my thing,” she says breathlessly when she feels him shift, feels his hands slide down to her hips, and if she arches a _touch_ to lift her ass up a little… well, he’s taking a while and she _wants_ him.

“I’m familiar,” he replies, making another pass at her spine. 

It’s cruel, what he’s doing, fingers dipping just under her, not really touching her anywhere that _should_ turn her on but sending little shocks of exhilaration through her anyway.  She may actually _beg_ him to touch her _anywhere else_ , but he _doesn’t_ , keeps teasing, stopping just short of her ass and just short of her neck and her breasts and—

Just when she’s about to whine _Dolls, please_ , he pushes off of her and says, “Okay, over.”

She wants to make a joke involving _giving her a bone_ if he’s gonna order her like a dog, but it flies right out of her head when he surges forward to slam his lips into hers even as he’s throwing a leg over her hips.  She strokes his chest but he takes her hand, presses them into the bed, twines their fingers together. 

“You’re killing me,” she gasps, chasing his lips when he pushes up.  His smile makes her stomach flip.  He lets her bring one hand up to her lips, watches her brush open kisses to his fingertips.  “Can’t you just like… I dunno, put your dick in me and call it a massage?” she asks when he tugs his hands away and sits back.

“Wynonna,” he groans with a laugh, but his gaze is on her like a physical weight. 

“Dolls,” she replies petulantly, rocking up into him as much as she can.

When it becomes clear that he’s got a _plan_ that no amount of mostly-naked begging will derail, she huffs a put-upon sigh and stills and accepts her fate.  “You look like you’re at your own funeral,” he says seriously, fingertips stroking over the middle of her chest, then splaying over either side of her collarbone.  It’s actually _awesome_ when he starts rubbing her shoulders.

“I’m mourning all the orgasms I could have had by now,” she snipes back distractedly.

“Trying to cultivate a moment, here,” he complains without any real heat.

She offers the most innocent smile she can as she sings sweetly, “You know, I’m _completely_ in the mood.  The mood has been achieved.”

He shakes his head, dips down to bite the ridge of her collarbone, doesn’t push her hands away when they inch up his thighs.  With a little frustrated moan, she tilts her head back as he works his way up her throat, fingers digging into his jeans.  His lips follow a maddening meandering path, fingers buried into her hair and nails dragging idly against her scalp and she feels like he may stay like this, at her throat and jaw and ears and _barely just_ at the top of her breasts for roughly _forever_ before he pushes up, just enough to start walking his knees back, nipping and sucking a line down the middle of her chest.  Distantly, she regrets ever thinking she could kiss him forever when it’s all she can bear not to have him touching her in _any single sexy place_.  So gently it’s ticklish, he brushes his lips over her stomach and she feels herself quiver and tries not to squirm too much even as her breath stutters.

Still, when he lets up enough for her to move, she _immediately_ seizes the opportunity to shimmy her legs out from under him and hike them up around his middle.  He sits up, eyes dark and hungry, and for a moment he’s just _looking_ at her, and she feels like she’s on fire and chews her lip and _waits_.  Well, she _tries_ to wait—with her grip around him, she tugs him down, mumbles some nonsense into his mouth as she kisses him eagerly, feels him shift and move until he’s flush against her.  When he rolls against her now, it drags shaky moans out of her, good— _so_ good after being touched everywhere _else_ but not enough and she grips his hips with her thighs and urges him _faster_ or _closer_ or _harder_.

He pushes up.  Her whine turns into a breathless, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” when he finally, _finally_ cups her breast, thumb dragging rough over a hard nipple and she arches up into the touch.  His mouth finds the other one and she can’t fully stifle a cry when he sucks and bites the sensitive nub.  Breath coming in quick, short pants, she’s pretty sure she might _actually_ die when he kisses his way across her chest.  “Jesus _Christ_ ,” she huffs, fingers digging into his forearm.

He pops off obscenely and, _God_ , licks his lips and she can’t help the way she squeezes her legs around him, and he smirks, “You can just call me Dolls.”

It surprises a laugh out of her and her eyes lift to the ceiling, shadows flickering and shifting, as he sucks gentle kisses back down her stomach and stops where her panties meet her skin.  His teeth drag over the ridge of her hip, sending an unexpected ripple of pleasure through her and drawing a gasp out of her.  He licks the spot, slow and lazy and _hot_.  Then he’s nudging at the ridge of her hip and, _oh_ , the friction of his stubble is _perfect_ but not at all where she needs it—when her knees squeeze a little, he lets up, turns his head, sucks a bruise on her inner thigh.

The pressure of his tongue through her underwear isn’t _enough_ and the glint in his eyes when she shoves up onto her elbows tells her all she needs to know about how well he knows that.  Still, it’s enough to drive the shaky, needy heat in the pit of her gut.  She feels him suck against her clit through too-thin— _not thin enough_ , she thinks vehemently—cotton.  Her hands don’t know where they want to be, they cover his on her thighs, his shoulders, the back of his head as her hips lift, aching for _more_.

Soon (too soon, if she’s being totally honest), it’s too much to handle, or not enough, or something, she urges him up, curling up to mash their lips together.  One hand grasps him by the shoulder as the other trips down his chest.  She’s too hot and too desperate to tease much, fingers tracing where his jeans have ridden low before popping the button and shoving down the zipper.  She wraps her hand around his hard cock and swallows his deep moan.  His own fingers slip between her legs, strokes over her wet panties even as he licks into her mouth.  After so long of getting _absolutely nothing_ , it feels a little like drowning if drowning also made your toes curl.

“Need—Dolls, I need you,” she breathes, shoving his boxers out of the way.  She may say more, may just whisper _please, please, baby, I want you, please_ , but he’s got her underwear pushed to the side and one finger dragging agonizingly over her clit making her hips jerk upward and her brain feels a little like it’s oozing out of her ears, so keeping track of what she actually _says_ isn’t exactly at the top of her priority list here.  He smiles into her lips, she feels its sharp edge.  “Take off your _pants_."

With a quick sigh and a fast, hard peck, he rolls off of her and shoves his jeans down.  Biting her lip, she shimmies out of her own underwear.  Once the last of his clothes hit the floor, she climbs across his lap and plants a hand on his chest to lean over to rummage in her nightstand as he palms her ass. 

“Hey,” he says, soft smile glittering and warm.

“I want you to know,” she murmurs, trying to sound cool and less affected as she tears open the condom wrapper, “That I am not relaxed _at all_.”

Laugh warm and rich and rippling through her, he flips her back onto her back, body settling heavily into hers.  “Massage isn’t over just yet,” he whispers, right against her ear.

Right when she’s about to call him a _loser_ , he presses into her, slowly, as one hand slides from her hip to her knee and hikes it up a little further.  She moans shakily into his neck, squeezing him closer and dragging her teeth over every inch of skin within reach.  His lips find hers as his body moves, an easy, continuous roll, and she thinks she might just die— _put it on my tombstone_ , she thinks dazedly, hips shifting up to meet his, _here lies Wynonna Earp, killed by a_ penis _, but what a way to go_.  His groans vibrate against her teeth and she grins into it, feeling a little weak to that sound and willing to do just about _anything_ to make him keep making it.  He pushes up onto his elbows and she misses the heat of him touching her everywhere but then he’s driving into her and it’s _better_ and she can barely breathe with it and she thinks she closes her eyes because he says, so gently she might imagine it, “Wait, look at me.”

Eyes sliding open, she bobs her head nonsensically and stares up at his eyes, dark and heavy-lidded and shimmery in the near-dark and the space between them feels charged.  It’s more intimate than it has any right to be, gazes locked and breathing into each other and bodies sliding against one another and little bursts of pleasure going off inside her punctuating every thrust.  He moans, louder and more freely than she would have expected, sending a quiet hot thrill through her.  He picks up speed and it feels like his hands are everywhere and then it feels like his _mouth_ is everywhere and she can hear herself crying out and cursing—and then just _yes_ and _right there_ and _fuck yes please god_.  Her nails are digging so hard into his shoulder and back it’s gotta hurt but she can’t help it as she tightens her grip around his waist and, _God_ , she’s so close, she can’t take it, it’s too much and not enough—

She doesn’t _think_ it’s the way his teeth dig into her lip that makes her cum, but it certainly doesn’t hurt—everything goes sugar-white and she’s _aware_ she’s screaming but she can’t think past _yes so good oh God fuck_.  Even as she quakes with aftershocks, she urges him on, can see the blown-out, wrecked _look_ in his eyes and knows he’s close, wants to feel it, wants him so bad, whispers how badly she _needs_ it into his open mouth until he groans her name and knocks their foreheads together.  His whole body goes taut, rigid, jerky and his moan is gravelly and raw as he lets himself be held tight against—into—her.

As she comes down, she strokes every part of him she can touch, absently and dazedly, and he eases down more fully into her, his weight pressing her into the bed almost comfortingly, sweat-slick foreheads still pressed together.  At length, though, she starts to feel a little like she’s suffocating in a decidedly not-sexy way.  He seems to realize it at the same moment she does.  She hisses when he eases out of her, soothed by his gentle kiss as he flops onto his back next to her, chest heaving.  Loose-limbed and sated, she snags his hand in hers and mumbles sleepily, “ _Much_ more relaxed now.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, initially, this was gonna be like a second chapter of the initial fic but the timing and pacing didn't feel right for another chapter so. It became its own thing!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> Swing by my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I am currently celebrating and crying, and will always talk about these nerds.


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